


Magical Mistakes Were Made

by Xeranathus



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 06:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeranathus/pseuds/Xeranathus
Summary: hair & magic just don't seem to go well together. needless to say, magical mistakes are made. {asra/reader}
Relationships: Apprentice & Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana) & Reader, Asra (The Arcana)/Reader, Asra (The Arcana)/You
Kudos: 70





	Magical Mistakes Were Made

**Author's Note:**

> some asra fluff, because I love one (1) magician and had fun writing this. based off of my own personal experience of dying my hair a color way too vibrant and dealing with the consequences. hope you enjoy! ♡

Asra had informed you he was leaving the shop responsibilities to you, murmuring something about running errands and “needing more ingredients for potions”, or at least that’s what you were able to piece together. Truth be told, you weren’t really listening. Instead, your curious gaze was fixed on the big, hulking book he had left on the shop counter — flipped wide open and just begging for you to read it. Asra’s lavender hues narrowed as he caught your gaze, knowing well enough by now that that look on your face could only mean one thing — trouble. His grip on the strap across his shoulder tightens ever so slightly as he watched you, bemused, as a thoughtful look slowly spread across his face. He clears his throat to steal your attention away from the book, just long enough to reiterate his plan for the day. He desperately wanted to swallow down his suspicions — as well as confirm you were actually listening to him.

“I should be back in time for lunch — and please, (Y/N), whatever you do, don’t touch that book while I’m gone, okay?” 

It was almost an invitation. At least, that’s what you had told yourself. You give him a curt nod, glancing between him and the book in rapid succession, before waving off his worries with a nonchalant flick of your wrist. "Yeah, yeah. Don't touch the book, water the plants, charge the crystals. Got it." Seemingly satisfied with your response, he tosses on his oversized, feathered hat and makes for the door, but not before throwing a sly wink your way. The moment he left the shop was the very same moment you dove for the temptation that sat, mockingly, on the shop counter — your fingers clutched the edges of its thin pages, feeling an unfamiliar surge of magic flow through you. It started at your fingertips, a tingly jolt of power that sent shivers down your spine and caused the hairs on your neck to stand up. It felt…intoxicating, empowering. Something you could definitely get used to. All the same, it made you wonder why Asra seemed so desperate to keep it away from you. Surely he would be impressed if he came home from a busy day of errand running, only to find out you mastered new magic while he was gone. Newfound curiosity boiled within you, further spurred on by this foreign rush of magical prowess, and soon you found yourself reciting a spell you’ve never heard of before — wasn’t sure what it did, what it’s purpose was, but you cared little. And that was where you went wrong. 

When you looked in the mirror, it felt as if you had lost touch with reality, as if you were peering at an alternative version of yourself that lived on some other astral plane of existence. You knew it was possible, at least. Asra told you stories of parallel universes, of magician gates, of portals that could toss the person into some random, otherworldly dimension. But when you carded a hand through your hair and tugged, really tugged, the fleeting hope that it was — in fact — a facade, came crashing down around you, shattered by the harsh reality that your mistake was real — too real. With a sigh of defeat, you threw on one of Asra’s discarded shawls, covered every visible inch of the dilemma that was now your hair, and slammed the book shut. He did warn you, and your mind raced as it pictured the mortified look on his face the moment he found out that you disobeyed him, and that it bit you in the behind. What would he say? Would he laugh at you? Would he reprimand you? No doubt he would give you an earful about how careless you had been, that perhaps this is what you deserved for going against your word. 

The bells on the door jingled, signifying Asra's return, and quickly bringing you out of your panic-stricken daydream. You couldn't let him see you like this — at first you think to hide somewhere, maybe upstairs, or under the table in the back room — but the sound of his approaching footsteps give you little warning of his arrival. Without wasting anymore time, you throw yourself onto the colorful mound of pillows on the floor, hoping and praying that they would camouflage your dejected form. You fight the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes, failing to conceal a sniffle that gives away your hiding position. “(Y/N), are you alright?” His usually light, carefree tone is now replaced by one of heavy concern as he takes his place beside you. His lean arms snake around your body, one hand gently rubbing the small of your back while the other sneakily tugs at the shawl haphazardly covering your head. Reflexively, you recoil from his touch, instead bringing your hands up to your hair in one last ditch effort to hide the big mistake you made. “It was an accident,” you mumbled, not meeting his warm gaze, even as he pulls you into an all-consuming embrace, his fluffy white locks tickling your nose as he buries his face in your chest. You sighed into his touch, absentmindedly running your digits through his soft, cloud-like hair. “I know,” he mused quietly, his purple irises lighting up with relief as he noticed your demeanor change. “I’m not mad, (Y/N), if that’s what you’re worried about. Plus, I think the color and style suits you.” 

Asra plants a tender kiss to your forehead before resting his own against it, the telltale sign of his notorious smirk inching across his face. “Maybe I’ll let you do my hair next.”


End file.
